Old Days
by stella-pegasi
Summary: A chance meeting in a cool bar on a hot LA afternoon.


**Title:** **Old Times**

**Author**: _stella_pegasi_

**Rating: **T

**Genres: **Action, friendship, Stargate Atlantis and NCIS: Los Angeles crossover.

**Word Count: **3190

**Spoilers: **Stargate Atlantis: Season 5 Enemy at the Gate

**Warnings:** Language

**Characters:** John Sheppard, Sam Hanna

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Stargate Atlantis or NCIS: Los Angeles. This story written for entertainment purposes only.

**Summary:** A chance meeting in a cool bar on a hot LA afternoon.

**Author's Notes:** Written for 'Stargate Challenge: Fancy Meeting You Here!' on LiveJournal. A crossover challenge, the assignment was to write a ficlet which crosses over a Stargate show with another fandom of your choice.

Submitted for TeamAtlantis and is a crossover between Stargate Atlantis and NCIS: Los Angeles.

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**Old Times**

_By stella_pegasi_

The interior of the small bar was dark, cool; a haven from the bright sunlight of a Los Angeles summer afternoon. He had wandered away from the others; exhausted from making small talk and acting as if everything was OK. Everything was certainly far from OK. They were on Earth and they should be on New Lantia.

The highly polished wooden bar stretched from the front door along the span of the room to his left. The bar ended near a door with signs denoting the restrooms and exit. The room dog-legged to the right, and he could just make out the corner of a rack of pool cues. Spotting a couple of empty seats at the far end of the bar, he headed that way.

He picked his way between the bar stools on his left, and the cocktail tables to his right. He had garnered the attention of the patrons, yet was oblivious to the stares coming his way. Several women and men followed his loose-limbed gait as he journeyed to the rear of the bar.

Tucking his long legs under the bar top overhang, he watched as the bartender poured a drink for an impatient server. A practiced flip of the wrist told him the gray-haired man had poured more than a few drinks. Sending the server off to deliver the drink, the man turned, "What can I get you?"

"GlenFiddich, neat."

The bartender nodded, and within seconds, a squat, straight-sided lowball glass sat on a paper coaster in front of him. He took a sip, savoring the silky, rich flavor as it eased down his throat.

As he sat staring at the bright glow from the sunlight flooding the front window and illuminating the bar, he wondered how long it would be before they noticed he had slipped away. The phone he had been issued was turned on, so he would know when he had to rejoin reality. Besides, if they couldn't locate him, they would begin to worry. They had worried enough lately. He had no intention to add worrying about him to the list.

Deep in thought, he didn't notice as someone sat down next to him. At least, he didn't notice until he felt a hand curl around his left forearm, and heard a soft voice in his ear.

"Hey, handsome, never seen you in here before."

He slowly swiveled his head to see a young, attractive woman with raven hair and ice blue eyes rimmed in heavy black eyeliner, staring at him. He looked away, taking another sip of his scotch. He didn't look back as he replied, "Never been here before."

"Knew that already, handsome; I'd remember anyone as good-looking as you. You look like you need a friend, and I can be a very good friend."

He chuckled, "I bet you are." He looked back at her, "So how much does your friendship cost?"

She smiled, slipping her hand from his arm to his upper thigh. Pressing her body against him, she whispered, "For you, sugar, nothing. Every now and then, a girl just likes a treat."

He reached down, grabbing her hand and pushed her away. "Thanks for the offer, "sugar", but I'm not interested."

She pouted, "Not interested, huh. Would you rather I brought my friend Beau along to make you happy? We could both make you happy." She pointed to a young, thin, brown-haired guy sitting at a table across the room.

"Not interested in you, not interested in Beau; simply interested in finishing my drink."

"Well, you're no fun at all, handsome." Blowing a light kiss into his ear, she walked away. He turned back to sip his drink.

A couple of minutes later, he sensed someone sit on the barstool again. Not looking around, he simply said, "Told you, not interested."

"Not interested in you either, 'sugar'," was the reply. It wasn't the young woman harassing him again; this voice was deep and masculine.

He turned his head quickly toward the new intruder and felt a shockwave course through him, "Sam Hanna."

"Never thought I'd ever see you again, John Sheppard."

Sheppard didn't respond immediately. He was wondering how the hell he could be so lucky to have picked the one bar in the world that Sam Hanna would be in. He swallowed another sip of scotch and replied sharply, "Miss me, Hanna?"

Hanna was holding a beer bottle in his hand. He took a swig from the bottle before he answered, "What's to miss, flyboy?" Sheppard didn't offer a comeback, and Hanna continued. "The last time I saw you, you had been recalled to headquarters; then I heard you were under an Article 32. Dixon told me they busted you to McMurdo, and now here you are in sunny LA. What the hell are you doing in my fair city, Sheppard?"

Sheppard knocked back the rest of his drink, and tapped the glass on the bar, requesting another. The bartender grabbed the scotch bottle and poured him another drink. He took a sip before he answered, "Thawing out, Hanna."

"Shit, Sheppard; you always were a wise ass. What the hell happened to you, man? You were the best Special Ops guy in the military. Why the hell did you throw it away on an unsanctioned mission that you knew would likely fail?"

"Water under the bridge, Hanna. Why dredge it back up?"

Hanna dropped his head, a deep sigh escaping, "How many ops did we do together, twenty, thirty? Hell, I lost count. You were better than the Seals or the Rangers…a frigging Air Force flyboy, and you were better than us. But you couldn't keep from irritating the brass, could you? Over and over, and then you go stealing a helo, going after dead men."

"They weren't dead then."

"No, but they might have well had been."

"Tell me you wouldn't have done the same." Sheppard's voice was rough.

"Sheppard…n-no, I wouldn't have." Sheppard turned to look at him, a cold stare that sent shivers through Hanna. The first inkling Hanna had that this was a different John Sheppard than he used to know. It took him a second to compose himself before he continued. "I would have followed orders."

"Hanna, easy for you to say now; but I know you. If one of your team had been captured, and you had even a remote chance to get them out, you would have." He took another sip from his drink, and continued.

"The orders were wrong; Colonel Jenkins didn't want to lose another helo. He didn't care about his men, just how he would look to the Pentagon. He wouldn't give the order to go, so I gave it to myself."

"At what cost, Sheppard? Do you think those men would have wanted you to come after them if they knew it would cause you to ruin your career?"

"Didn't care; but enough about me. What are you doing in a bar in the middle of the afternoon? Or does it have something to do with the pretty brunette and the nervous looking, blond guy in the corner table, who are watching our every move?"

Sam glanced over at the pair in question, his partners Kensi Blye and Marty Deeks. They were in the bar waiting for G. Callen to arrive with the subject of their mission. Callen had been undercover for a month on a case involving black market sales of Navy equipment. Callen and his mark had arranged to meet the mark's buyer in the bar where Callen was going to up the ante on equipment, state of the art radar.

"Certainly haven't lost your touch have you, Sheppard?"

Sheppard smiled faintly, "What are you into, Hanna? I doubt you've gone rogue. I appear to be the prime suspect for that path. No, you're some kind of government operative; if you're still active Navy, Naval Intelligence; if not…NCIS? I don't take you for the FBI type."

Hanna dropped his head, lowering his voice, "Still a smart ass, but a smart, smart ass; NCIS."

"Well, your partners don't seem to be too happy you're chatting me up, Hanna."

"They're the protective type."

"Hmmm….the type to disobey orders to save your life?" Sheppard's voice definitely took on a snarky tone with his question.

About to reply, Hanna realized he was going to say yes, aware that Sheppard had backed him into a corner. "Touché, Sheppard. Yeah, they'd risk their lives to save me, but remember, we are civilians now, not military; big difference."

Sheppard finished his second scotch in one last gulp, "Not in my book, Hanna." As he stood up, the bar's entrance door swung open. Two men entered, then headed straight toward a man sitting alone. "Heads up, looks like its show time; good luck." He turned away from the bar, disappearing through the rear door toward the restroom.

Surprisingly, the small head was clean and didn't reek of stale beer and piss, at least not early in the afternoon. He took care of business, washed his hands, and then splashed water on his face. Staring into the cracked mirror, he wasn't certain he recognized the reflection with three day's growth of beard and tousled hair looking back at him. Since Atlantis splashed down on the surface of the Pacific, he had felt out of sorts. How could he not feel at home on Earth? This was home. However, the fact remained; he didn't feel at home. Home was on Atlantis, and Atlantis didn't belong on Earth.

General O'Neill had seemed to sense that he and the others were unsettled. About a ten days ago, O'Neill and Colonel Cameron Mitchell showed up with a couple of large black SUV's, drivers, and a month worth of leave orders for Sheppard, McKay, Lorne, Beckett and Keller, along with an invitation for Teyla, Torren, and Ronon to come along. They headed down the California coastline, stopping to surf, eat seafood, drink wine, watch the sunsets, and generally chill. Sheppard was about to have his fill of chilling. This was their fourth day in Los Angeles, two more days and they were scheduled to head for San Diego. He was at least looking forward to that…O'Neill promised a stop at the Miramar Marine Air Station for some flying time in jets and helos. Then Mitchell hinted that they may take a soirée into Mexico. That might not be so bad either. He was about to decide it was time to rejoin his team, when his cell phone buzzed; the caller ID read Cam Mitchell.

"Where the fuck are you, Shep?"

"Hello to you too, Mitchell; I'm in a bar about a block around the corner from the restaurant. Got tired of listening to McKay and Beckett bickering about the merits of Canada and Scotland; had to get out of there for a bit."

"Some friend you are, you could've ask me to escape with you." Mitchell feigned indignation.

Sheppard chuckled, "You looked like you were having too much fun with the pretty little server to want to leave."

Laughing, Cam said, "You are a 'cheeky bastard', Beckett's right. Look, O'Neill's anxious to get to the Dodger's game, but he insists on finishing his cake. I'm settling up the bill now; wait for us on the sidewalk. We'll be around to pick you up in about ten minutes." Mitchell hung up.

Sheppard smiled at his scruffy reflection. At least if he wasn't home, he was among friends. He exited the head and had his hand on the door to the bar when he heard a scream and the sound of a scuffle. He eased the door open as quietly as possible, and saw that Hanna's operation had gone south.

The bar's patrons were scurrying for cover. The blond guy with Hanna was lying on the floor, out cold, blood trickling from a cut across his cheek. Hanna and the brunette had weapons drawn, aiming at the two men who were holding another man, who Sheppard presumed was Hanna's teammate. One of the men had a gun pressed to the NCIS agent's head.

Hanna's eyes darted to Sheppard, then focused back on the men holding his partner. Sheppard silently cursed, he was not carrying a weapon. O'Neill had everyone put their sidearms inside lockers in the SUV's. Sheppard remembered the general's exact words, "We're on leave, for crying out loud; no guns." He wished the general had been a little less worried they'd get into trouble if they had their weapons. If only Ronon was with him, he'd have a knife or two stashed, and could take care of this situation.

Realizing he didn't have a lot of options, Sheppard glanced around the room for anything he thought he could use to help end the standoff. He spotted the cue sticks and began to inch his way toward the rack. He kept his eyes on the two men holding Callen, as he carefully picked his way through the tables and chairs. Reaching the rack, he pulled two cue sticks down, and turned back toward the main bar. As he listened to Hanna trying to talk the two perps into letting Callen go, Sheppard unscrewed the shafts from the butts of the two sticks, laying the shafts gently onto a table.

He was in Hanna's line of sight, so the NCIS agent had been watching Sheppard the entire time. He wasn't certain what Sheppard was planning, but he was willing to roll with it. What ever Sheppard had become, Hanna knew he was extremely capable. He'd trust the man in a fight.

Sheppard slipped up behind the two men, slamming the two sticks against the perps' heads, while he used his left foot to push Callen away. One of the perps went to the ground, quickly subdued by Kensi, while Hanna pulled Callen to his feet. As the two NCIS agents turned to help Sheppard, they hesitated. The young Marine, who Callen had been working with, was facing Sheppard, his weapon pointed at the taller man. Blood was gushing from the gash on his head, opened by the blow of the cue stick butt.

"Who the fuck are you?" the Marine screamed.

Cocking his head, Sheppard grinned, "Nobody." He flashed the cue sticks, moving them so rapidly that Hanna later couldn't remember seeing them move. The first stick knocked the gun from the Marine's hand, the second stick struck him in the left side, bringing the perp to his knees. With a third blow, to the Marine's upper back, Sheppard sent him sprawling to the floor, unconscious.

As Callen secured the Marine, Sheppard went to the bar to settle his tab, but the bartender waved him off, thankful that his bar hadn't been shot up. Sheppard threw a ten dollar bill on the counter as a tip and headed out the door, Hanna on his heels.

"Sheppard, wait up." He caught up with his old teammate, grabbing him by the arm.

Hanna didn't say anything for a second, just stared at Sheppard. Finally he managed to speak, " What the fuck was it with the sticks back there?"

Sheppard grinned, "Just something I picked up from a tiny, but powerful, woman warrior."

"Damn, I don't think I want to meet her. L-Listen, thanks; you save Callen, and most likely the rest of us in there. You always seems to be saving me, Sheppard; it's certainly not the first time."

"Hey, right place, right time, Hanna. It's OK." Sheppard's face was expressionless.

"Look I said some things; well, man…I d-didn't mean to ever imply you weren't one of the bravest idiots I've ever known. I was just disappointed in you; you were the best, and I thought you threw it away."

"Hanna, I disappointed myself, but I wouldn't have done anything different. Sometimes, though, second chances come along when we don't expect it." As he spoke, police cars began to pull up to the bar. In the distance, he saw two black SUV's turn the corner, then speed up after spotting the flashing blue lights.

The black SUV's came to a screeching halt; the drivers exited and flashed credentials to the police. Sheppard smiled as Ronon jumped from one SUV and Lorne, the other.

"Colonel, you OK, sir?" Lorne asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine, major. I'll be there in a second." He nodded to Ronon, who reluctantly got back in his vehicle. Lorne returned to his vehicle, as well.

Hanna looked stunned, "Colonel?"

Sheppard gave him a little half-grin and a nod.

"Full-bird or light?"

"Full," Sheppard replied.

"Fuck." Hanna grinned.

"That was my reaction, Hanna."

Hanna was about to reply when the window to one of the SUV's slid down and a voice called out, "Sheppard, get your ass in here. We're going to be late for the first pitch, and I am going to hold you responsible."

Sheppard laughed, "As you can see, I'm still having issues with the brass; that's the voice of a general."

"Shep, I-I don't…"

"Don't say anything; take care of yourself. Next time I'm in LA, I'll look you up. We can do this reunion right." Sheppard slapped Hanna on the shoulder, and headed for the SUV's.

As they pulled away, Callen walked up to Hanna. "Who was that guy? Man, he saved our hides."

Hanna watched the SUV's pull away, "That's what he does."

~ooOOoo~

NCIS headquarters was quiet, nearly deserted; only the night techs were milling about. Sam Hanna's team had departed a couple of hours earlier after finishing the paperwork on the operation, and grilling him about Sheppard. He was sitting at his desk, his laptop screen filled with the words, 'Access forbidden. Files Extreme Classified. SAP Compartmentalized.' He was lost in thought, and didn't hear LA Ops Manager Hetty Lange approach.

"Interesting day, Mr. Hanna," she sat down in the chair next to his desk.

Looking at her, he frowned, "Yeah, more interesting than I thought."

"Mr. Hanna, I just got off the phone with the Department of Defense. They apparently don't take kindly to anyone attempting to access information regarding one Air Force Colonel John Sheppard. They have requested that you back off."

Hanna had the same stunned expression on his face that he had when he learned Sheppard was a full-bird colonel. "Hetty, there are more security warnings on his file than I've ever seen. I mean, they put every security classification label on here. What the hell is he into? I held high security clearance, and I never approached this kind of lid."

Hetty shrugged, "I have no idea. Whatever he is involved in, its way above my clearance level. Let it go, Mr. Hanna." She rose and headed back to her office.

"Let it go," he thought. He thought he had, he thought he had written Sheppard off a long time ago. Now, he realized that he, and a lot of other people, shouldn't have been so quick to judge the tall, Air Force pilot.

Hanna closed his laptop and grabbing his keys, stood up to leave for home. He walked out of NCIS headquarters; his mind speculating about what Sheppard was doing. He wondered if he as doing ops like they did during the old days. Old days; somehow, he thought Sheppard might be into more than he could imagine. However, one thing Sam Hanna was confident about, whatever the mission was, it was in good hands.

_The end…  
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Feedback is much appreciated. I would love to know what you think!

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